Warmth
by professor lazyass
Summary: Draco Malfoy hasn't felt simply warm in a while.


Echoing off of the manor's vast hallways is a baby's cry, the sound reverberating in the air, and Draco is shaken awake. He quickly sits up in his large king sized bed, soft mattress dipping as he scrambles for his wand, which is under his pillow. Draco looks over his shoulder, sighing as he finds Astoria safe and sound, asleep, her chestnut colored hair splaying across the cushion, but is far from comforted. He stands, and a chill crawls up his spine as his feet pad against the cool marble floor. He walks through the door, carefully shutting it so as not to wake up his wife, and jogs in the direction of the source of the sound.

He grips his wand tighter, adding to his pace, damning the mansion—why'd it have to be so large, again? Anyways, you see, Draco has something called a Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, resulting in him worrying about the smallest things and softest of sounds. Rubbish, honestly. And with the baggage of a demanding father and the guilt of the Dark Mark plaguing him constantly, he isn't in the best psychological shape. Yet, Draco reasons, panting, nearing his son's room, he's a father now. He needs to push his own troubles aside (not that he's actually done anything about them—Astoria was the one that forced him to get those damn Muggle anti-depressants,) now—he's a parent, and a parent's main priority is their child.

Draco slows to a stop, transferring his wand to his left hand and using his right to softly push the door open. He flinches, strangled sobs multiplying in volume. The room is large, with a copious window, toys scattered across the floor, along with tan walls. Draco remembers Lucius wanting them to be green.

The blonde man maneuvers through the room, attempting to dodge the stuffed animals and such with no avail—his socked foot presses on something furry and round, and one of those Pygmy Pliffs or what have you squeaks, dashing underneath a small bed to Draco's right. A little boy shakes underneath the thick brown covers, and his head pops out from underneath them. Draco finally realizes how much the four year old looks like him, save for his hair being longer and quite unkempt, and he nearly stops breathing.

Grey eyes swim in tears, and a soft, quivering voice says, "Daddy?"

Draco softens, walking (limping) towards his son's bed. He sits, and the boy slowly rises up, duvet pooling around his waist. He sniffs, Draco waits, and seconds later Scorpius crumples into his chest, sobbing, soaking his father's thin grey sweatshirt. Draco gulps and puts one hand on the boy's head, holding him as his other arm slips around his waist; he closes his eyes, ducking his head, nose buried in the blonde locks. Scorpius starts gasping, and Draco's eyes widen, and then he cringes, his son smearing snot all over his shirt; right.

"Why are you crying," Draco asks, thumb stroking the young Malfoy's temple. Scorpius pauses, and Draco looks down, finding his son—_his _son, bloody hell—pause, chewing his lip. The blonde detaches himself from his father, scrambles back to his pillow, and curls up into a tight ball, clutching a little stuffed, auburn owl named Petrie to his chest. A blush blossoms on his cheeks, and he looks down, fiddling with Petrie's wings as Draco frowns.

"I had a bad dream," Scorpius mutters, so soft that his father must lean in to hear him.

"What was it about?" Draco asks, scooting over. Scorpius's head snaps up, fresh tears overflowing in his eyes, and Draco starts to get seriously worried.

"It—it—a monster had you and Mummy."

"What kind of monster, Scor?" Draco uses his son's nickname, something that always makes the boy grin; though now, it doesn't work.

"I—It looked like a person. A—a really tall person, and, um, they were wearing a really big cloak. And you and Mummy were sleeping, and I ran to go get you, but, but the monster got me," Scorpius says, letting go of poor Petrie and using his hands to grab the air, "and—and when he took off his hood…"

Scorpius stops talking and Draco tucks some unruly locks behind his ear. "And?"

Scorpius ducks his head, breath quick, and mutters, "—and when he took off his hood… it was Grandpa."

Draco's hand falls away from his son, and then into his lap. His lips form a thin line, and Scorpius whimpers, hastily shuffling over and gripping his father's arm with one hand, Petrie in the other.

"Is that bad, Daddy? I—did I do something wrong?"

"No…," Draco answers, voice strangely rasped, "No." He turns, smiling at his son, who looks at him questionably. "No monsters are going to get you or me or your mummy, alright? …I'll keep them off." Scorpius beams, and Draco stands, stretches, and then tucks Scor under the covers, kissing his forehead.

"Are you okay now?"

Scorpius smiles, nodding vigorously, the little owl underneath the covers with him; Draco combs his hand through his son's hair, and smiles.

"'Night, Scor," he walks, keeping his eyes peeled for any more Pygmy Puffs, and opens the door, just as his son calls out.

"Daddy?"

Draco turns around, finding Scorpius biting on his lip and already out from under the covers. He looks down and plays with Petrie's wings again, and in a meek voice, asks, "Can you, um… stay here? With me?"

Draco smiles, closes the door, and shuffles to the twin-sized bed. His son gleefully scoots over towards the wall, and Draco slips in, comforter falling over the both of them, placing his wand under the pillow as per usual.

"Of course," Draco says, and he turns on his side, Scorpius snuggling into his chest.

"I love you, Daddy."

Draco freezes, unbeknownst to his son. His eyes stare over the blonde's head, at the wall, and for the first time, he feels simply _warm_. It starts in his chest and spreads, making his fingers tingle and his head swim. The world seems a bit brighter, and Draco closes his eyes, swiftly gathering his son in his arms, and it feels a bit natural, laying here in a tiny, cramped bed.

"I love you too, Scorpius."

Scorpius giggles, already half asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Idk why I'm writing so much, but here, have some more Harry Potter. I think that with Astoria (my head canon of her is that she's super gentle, really friendly and pro-Muggle, but can be really manipulative as well, due to her being in Slytherin) and Scorpius, he'd soften up quite a bit, but if he's out of character than please tell me what I should fix. I've never really written about Draco before… Also, I think that'd it'd be really… not nice, but something like it, for Draco to have some type of psychological problem after the war, with all he's been through. He isn't as steely as his parents, and he was obviously bothered very much by him becoming a Death Eater and such. I think that'd he'd want his son to keep away from all dark magic. Also I feel like talking.

**PS: **This sucked and I changed the summary because the concept changed a bit after I started writing. Not that I really had a concept to begin with, but whatever.

**PPS: **Also, with this fic, I'm not trying to say that Lucius Malfoy is _scary, _of all things. I just think that he's rather stoic, depressed and I think that his pride has been wounded and he's family's name has been tarnished. I think that despite his cold demeanor, he'll teach Scorpius about the importance of keeping your family safe, of protecting them with the last ounce of strength you've got. Welp that sounds dramatic and this author's note was colossal. Anyways, please review!

(Now I want to write a Malfoy-centric fic, goddamn.)


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